There's an Ewok in the house! Oh, wait....

I have not been blogging as prolifically as I normally would this past week.  It has been a whirlwind of sadness and funeral arrangements.  My darling dad will be farewelled next Wednesday.  Owing to paperwork and red tape and public holidays and blah-blah-blah, we have been unable to secure a time prior to 30 December.  We're happy with this date, and have been choosing songs for the service.  People have been wonderful.  One of Dad's friends offered to organise a horseback guard of honour.  How beautiful this is going to look, and how I wish Dad could see it.  My eleven-year-old thought we should make a robot of Pop to go on a horse too, but also thought there could be logistic issues if it happens to rain and causes Robo-Pop (my moniker, not his) to short circuit.

A friend left me a note today, in which she wrote her grandfather said my father looked to be part of the horse whenever in the saddle.  This is so funny; I have been writing my speech for Dad's funeral, and I have used this analogy - he always looked like kind of a centaur in my eyes.

So much to do at the moment, and such little inclination to do it.  My wretched German shepherd/kelpie cross has left hair everywhere.  If I swept the hair into a pile and stuck eyes on it, I could convince my children we have a pet Ewok.  I have washing to fold.  Thankfully most of it is towels and my younger son has discovered there is a fiscal advantage to folding the towels for Mum.

Haven't been watching the news or anything.  I've been rushing around like a dervish trying to get stuff organised, as have my brother and sister.  Still got some tidying on my speech - I'm working on that bit where I found newspaper cuttings of my father.  These cuttings reported the time a bull escaped from the Royal Easter Show, and my father (who would have then been aged about 26), along with two other riders, chased it down Anzac Parade.  The bull dashed along tram lines, and the riders carried out an operation known as bulldogging.  For those unfamiliar with the term, it's a rodeo event wherein a rider follows a steer, leans down and grabs the horns, and dismounts the horse and manoeuvres the bull to the ground.  This is what Dad did, and people disembarked from the tram and ran over with ropes and things, and Dad tied the bull until help arrived.  I read about all this (among other achievements) when I was about ten.  You know that feeling you get when you think your father might be Batman?  That's what it was like.

Oh well, the freaking dog hair won't sweep itself.